Procrastinate
Feeling dignity itself is impossible,
I feel nothing or nothing more at least,
There is no way to justify.
Myself,
Things I have done or tried to do,
Or failed at,
Miserably failed at,
There’s no way to bring truth to that kind of dark,
No way to break even or who knows?
A curse?
No.
This isn’t a curse,
It’s just a fault, an inability,
Or can I be that thing I need?
You need.
They want.
At least one of those at least?
Ill churn and make for the day,
Accomplish less than I set out to,
Far, far less,
Or just end back where I began or somewhere before.
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